“No! I cannot! We Belmanoirs⁠—as God made us, so we are⁠—and He made us spendthrift, and pleasure-loving, and mad!” She walked slowly to the door. “But you do not understand, and you try to make me staid, and thoughtful, and a good mother, when I am dying for life , and excitement, and care not that for housewifery!” She opened the door slowly. “And now my head aches, and you look grave and say ’tis my wicked temper, when I want you to be sorry, and to be ready to do anything to comfort me. Why can you not take me to London, when you know how I long to be there, instead of in this gloomy house with nought to do, save mind my child and my needle? I am so tired of it all! So very tired of it all!”

She would have left the room then, but he detained her.

“Wait, Lavinia! You say you are unhappy?”

She released the door handle and fluttered her hands expressively.